Pick Your Poison
by postitdempsey
Summary: Derek Shepherd decides it's time to come to terms with his disease rather than avoiding it. In an attempt to better himself, he starts attending a counseling circle, hoping to rid himself of his issues and be better for his girlfriend of two years. Along the way he meets Meredith Grey, a twenty-two year old drug addict who appears to not want any help at all.
1. Chapter 1

_January 6th, 2005_

The pads of his fingertips rub the worn leather steering wheel of his beat up 2003 Land Rover. The sky is murky, a swirl of dark clouds coinciding with an overcast of gloom. Salty droplets of rainwater sprinkle his windshield, _plop, plop._ His mind is swimming, a pile of mushy jello seeming to replace what was once his brain. _He's so_ _ **hammered**_ _._ He wonders how he's managed to make it here; in fact he's curious as to how he's still not _drunk_ from the night before. He's thankful he hasn't reached the point of nausea, though he's certain it won't be long before his gut is roiling like a washer on spin cycle.

He proceeds to think on the _bright_ side; he's endured worse hangovers. Thoughts of the blowout he threw a few months back comes to mind. Snickers fill the cabin of the car, though he's not sure why he's _laughing._ In truth he doesn't remember most of the party besides the booze and some blonde with beach balls for breasts, shoving her hand down his crotch. The chortles help him nonetheless. He can feel his clenched muscles releasing the dissonance they'd held captive since the previous night. _Why is he doing this?_ There were a million and one reasons he had to quit, to reignite the engine of his SUV, to drive down the opposite road and never look back. It all seemed so much _easier._ As unfortunate as it seemed, his one reason seemed to outweigh the others. _Nothing in life ever comes easily._

His hand curls around the key, _keeping his engine humming_ , out of the ignition. The warm gusts of air blowing from the vent halts abruptly and the rumbling melody of his car hushes to an eerie quiet. His forehead meets the torn black leather of his steering wheel. _I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,_ his mantra.

He doesn't bother shielding his ravenous dark mane from the brewing storm above his head, he simply locks the vehicle and trudges toward the gymnasium. His hands scrunch inside the pockets of his leather jacket, beads of water cascading down his forehead. His heart thumps like a base drum on steroids, _pulse, pulse, pulse,_ he can feel his blood drifting cold once his feet cross the threshold.

His cheeks are flushed with the exact hue decorating the ball of his crooked nose. Goosebumps brush his pasty skin as heat radiates his flesh. He doesn't remember a time he'd felt so useless, so _helpless._ Almost as if he were less of a man, shaving bits and pieces of his manhood, inch by inch as his feet trailed him along the empty corridor.

A glimmer of yellow catches his attention, _his light at the end of the tunnel, he presumes._ His hand bunches the crinkled paper buried deep within his coat pocket. _Turn around_ , his conscious chirps, _Its so much_ _ **easier**_ _to leave._ Again. _Go have a_ _ **drink**_ _._ His brain and heart have an imaginary tug-of-war, he decides to wait and see who wins the latter. His heart seems to be persuasive this morning, _stupid_ _ **feelings**_ _._ He **wants** to do this. Though truthfully, he **needs** to do this. Not just for Addison, the woman he intends to marry, but for _himself. For his career. For his_ _ **life**_ _._ It's important he at least tries, _trying is better than not trying at all._ He'd be an even bigger coward to give up so easily. In fact he would contradict the meaning behind his profession, _save lives, don't destroy them._

Forget his manhood, forget his pride, forget the overwhelming embarrassment hopping up and down his spine like a rabbit on a pogo stick. So he does just that, dropping everything he'd tried so _hard_ to maintain, into his mental waste basket. The gymnasium lights blind him, all of them a scorching sun, disintegrating his corneas. Mentally he knows the lights aren't _that_ vivid. He has a _hangover._ His vision replenishes itself, growing accustomed to the light source. A circle of plastic chairs is centered in the gym. A slew of people filling them awkwardly; some chewing hair, others biting nails. _Is that who he was? A member of 'Freak Village?'_

His stomach churned, gurgling with unsettlement. At this point he's not sure if it was the alcohol he digested the night prior making his gut turn to knots. He can assume it was the anxiety overpowering him, alongside the loss of his strength and pride. He's nothing now. He certainly _feels_ like nothing. His eyes catch a glimpse of the double doors, his mind teetering the notion of escaping. _Leaving would be so much_ _ **easier**_ _._

A voice grips his attention. _"You must be our new member."_ The mystery mans tone bounces along the bleachers, the walls, the ceiling, echoing against his eardrum. He nods like he's uncertain, though deep down he's _extremely_ certain. His shoes squeak along the flooring, _squawk, squeak, squawk._ Eyes beat him down like a baseball bat. He's feeling far more exposed than he'd ever felt in his life. Their orbs peel his layers intricately, like they're deciphering whether or not he's worthy enough to be accumulated into their _freak filled_ equation.

"Yes." Derek huffs. He's out of breath suddenly. A lump blocks his airway, _he can't breathe._ His hands shakily pull the crumbled lined sheet of paper from the safety of his pocket. Within moments this cluster of people would be aware of his _name_ and his _disease._

The man with overly moosed tresses scans the paper. A grin stretches along the apples of his cheeks. " _Derek!"_ His stomach coils like leafs on a vine. Perspiration lines his brow and hairline. He feels as the equivalent to a nervous sixth grader during a school talent show, freezing during the performance unable to move a single limb. "It's so great of you to join us."

Derek wishes to snort, there was nothing _great_ about any of this. This gymnasium was filled with nothing more than a clot of _sick_ and _mentally disturbed_ human beings. Though he has no right to judge, he's officially 'one of them' no matter how hard he'd be willing to deny it. Derek grunts, in no mood to covey real words.

The man doesn't seem to notice his inability to communicate, in fact he does nothing more than smile and shove his crumpled sheet of paper into the depths of his pants pocket. "How about you take a seat next to..." He drifts. Derek takes a three hundred sixty degree glance at the people, quietly hunched over in chairs. From a far, they seem almost _normal._ In fact nothing about a single one of them indicates a single sign of an illness. But that's the _thing._ Not a single person in this gym have anything _physically_ wrong with him, including himself. Though they have _mental_ disabilities that are a little too complex for an ordinary doctor to fix.

"Hm." The mans rugged mumble pulls him out of the water, that has seemed to suffocate him as he dove in deeper. "How about, Meredith." His bony finger directs him to a woman, head down, blonde locks cascading down her face as a shield of some sort. Derek watches the groups expressions whiten, eyes widening, he can even hear a few teeth chatters. _What the hell was so bad about this_ _ **Meredith**_ _girl?_ She couldn't be worse than _Mark Sloan_ his manwhore of a best friend. She couldn't be worse than _himself._

Derek simply nods, strutting to the empty blue chair. His tush finds a new home on the seat. His hands curl around the caps of his knees. He finds himself curious to know more about the woman he's sitting next to. Not in a _romantic_ get to know ya' way. But an I'm intrigued at how mysterious you are kind of way. Derek's pointer finger twitches as an overwhelming amount _desire_ to poke this woman's shoulder washes over him. He's anxious for her to lift that head of _gold._

"Let's begin everyone." The mans voice distracts Derek from his primary goal, though the thought isn't all lost, perhaps _on-hold_ for the current moment. "Including you, _Meredith._ " A grunt rings Derek's ear. The woman next to him was beginning to sprout like a flower in the spring. Her hand brushes the honey-blonde tresses from her face. Derek studies her facial features attentively. To the naked eye, her skin resembles porcelain. Freckles cover the bridge of her petite nose and the apples of her cheeks. Her lips are a rosy plum. Her eyes drew him into a different stratosphere. Two emerald orbs placated against her skin. Specks of cobalt lined her pupils and her iris was a swirl of green and grey. Derek is mesmerized. He knows those eyes could reel anyone into an everlasting trance.

As unfortunate as the circumstances were, he wasn't blind. He could see clear as day the darkened circles rimming her under eyes. To the average human being, they may see it is a result from lack of sleep. Some may assume its inherited. As _unfortunate_ as it was; Derek knew better. He too noticed the dilation in her eyes, the scabs lining her arms. Those purple bags weren't the aftermath of fatigue, they were the side effects of _drug abuse._ Derek hadn't so much as heard a single squawk spill from this woman's lips and yet he found his stomach rumbling like an earthquake. _Why had this gorgeous woman resulted to_ _ **drugs**_ _?_

Then again; why had he chosen the path down alcoholism? At times, Derek Shepherd hated life more than anything else. It was so cruel and there were so many people who didn't deserve it's everlasting wrath. _Double single malt scotch_ was his enabler, but it helped clear his brain from the gnarly thoughts of the outside world.

"For our newest member, I'm _Finn._ I'm the _proxy_ for this group of individuals and I'm excited to work with you all." Derek drowns most of Finn's spiel out, his attention directed at the blonde beauty, twirling a lock of her hair between her fore and middle finger. In his eyes, he takes note of how distracted she is. Appearing almost as if she'd been transported to a different galaxy. Her mystery spiked Derek's curiosity and he was determined to engross his time into detecting her background. Normally, he wasn't a _nosy_ person. Other people's business simply _wasn't his._ He feels like a hypocrite against his own words, but something about this woman was reeling him into her direction. _Like a moth to a light._

"Derek." Finn's voice distracts Derek and he mentally scowls at the diversion. "How about you share first." He doesn't seem to be _asking._ More along the lines of _stating._ Assuming it's Derek's _only_ option on the menu, he exerts a strenuous breath from his lungs, _inflate, deflate, inflate._

His vision is diluted by the shaky tears brimming his waterline. _Is this what he's amounted to? A freak in a gymnasium sharing his disease aloud like its 'show and tell' day at school?_ Admitting he's an alcoholic means he truly is one. _How did he get_ _ **here**_ _?_ "I'm um." Derek's tone is shaky, his palms are clammy, the back of his neck is slick with sweat, and anxiety squeezes his gut like a vice. Through the corner of his eye, he sees Meredith gazing at him, _waiting_ for him to utter something more intelligent. He doesn't understand why he cares about her. _What's so special about Meredith?_ But in the back of his mind he can't find himself giving up or amounting to even larger coward than he already was. It isn't just for _Addison,_ of for his _Job_ , maybe it isn't about _Meredith_ either. Derek's aware he needs to pursue this for _himself._

"I'm Derek Shepherd, I'm twenty-seven years old. I work at Seattle Grace as a surgical resident. I have a girlfriend, her name is Addison Montgomery. I have four sisters, all _very_ girly." He breaks, chuckles a bit, releasing the fear chafing his insides. "And I'm an alcoholic. I abuse alcohol, I get too drunk, and I do things I shouldn't. And I _need_ help." Derek never like admitting to needing any kind of help. He felt _worthless_ and he didn't want anyone's pity.

The cluster of people clap slowly, _what's there to applaud?_ But he doesn't dismiss their acknowledgement of his speech. "So you're a _doctor_?" A rich, Boston accent fills the silence of his own personal bubble. Derek's attention snaps to the junkie blonde sitting next to him.

His cheeks prick a fever, _he knows he's blushing._ "Well working my way there." He smiles, running a hand through his dark tresses. In an attempt to ignite a topic deeper than his profession, Derek stretches an arm out, his fingers wiggling. "I'm Derek, but I'm sure you already knew that." He grins another of his signature grins, ' _the McDreamy preen',_ or so every one of his colleagues called it.

Meredith's bottom lip twitches to the right side of her cheek, a cat like smirk of mischief decorating her facial features. "Meredith, Meredith Grey." Her hand clamps around his, a firm fit, _the right fit._ "You don't seem like an alcohol abuser, ya' know." Her comment makes his stomach twist and knot like a pretzel doing somersaults. "In fact," she begins, tugging her hand from his own. "You seem like the kind of man to go _against_ alcohol." Her smirk from only moments earlier reappears.

"Well, you don't seem like the type of woman to be a _drug addict_." Derek hadn't meant for that to slip. Hell, he wasn't even sure where it came from. He knows how the offense feels to be called out like that, _out of the blue with no remorse._ His irises study her face rapidly, in a way that resembles cramming for a chemistry test taking place ten minutes from that moment. To the naked eye, she doesn't appear to be insulted. Though why would she show her weakness? Then again her weakness may have been plastered on a flashing neon billboard as it was clear she was _here._ Meredith was right there alongside Derek, showing her weakness clear as day.

"And how would _you_ know if I take drugs or not?" Meredith's arms envelop her tiny chest. The plum cashmere sweater eclipsing her torso rides up, Derek catching a glimpse at her bare tummy.

His cheeks burn, he knows blush is dusting flames of fire across his neck and cheeks. Her tone didn't indicate annoyance, though he isn't completely sure of his observations. A lump equivalent to a grapefruit lodges between the thick, pink slime walls coating his esophagus. "I um." Derek's lungs feel deflated, lifeless. "My sister." He spurts. "My sister, she's a drug addict. She has the same dark circles under her eyes and the picks on her arms."

Silence rivets between them periodically. Derek's chest tightens, _had he upset her?_ He was well aware of the way drug addicts reacted to certain commentary, his sister was one and he was a flipping surgical resident. He dealt with drug abuse cases all the time. "Hm." The sound of her hum pricks Derek's ear. "I guess _'crazy abuser'_ runs in the family." She lifts a brow and the smirk she'd carried moments earlier returned for an encore.

Derek snorts, his front teeth gripping the bottom of his lip, yanking and teetering the red skin. "Yeah." He murmurs. "Yeah I suppose it does." Derek's leans and rests his back against the cold, shiny plastic of his chair. He's virtually tuned out every bit of information Finn has asserted but he can't find himself caring. Relief washes him over like a wave of calm. He'd walked in this room with his head held low, a _coward._ Now he sits with the slightest gleam blanketing his orbs. He doesn't feel as alone, as he's now met someone who seems characteristically in the same boat as he was.

It felt good to share his darkest secrets with someone that didn't present him with a disowned glance.

It felt _damned_ good.

* * *

 **So I know what you're all thinking; why are you starting a third story when you haven't even finished the other two? I know it seems rash, like a super bad idea because I still need to finish the others! But in all honesty I've wanted to do this plot line for sooooo long and I honestly didn't think I'd be able to wait until my other two stories were completed.**

 **I want to let you all know that I have decided to keep my chapters** _ **much**_ **shorter than they've been in the past. I've been trying to do 5,000 worded chapters almost 6,000 and I honestly just can't do it, for the reasons being I don't have the time and I don't have that much to discuss in one chapter. This goes for my other stories as well. I won't be making them too short but bare minimum will be 2,000 words.**

 **If you haven't figured it out yet; this story will involve drug use and alcoholism. If these topics disturb you I'd recommend not reading anymore. For my readers I won't change the rating to 'M' unless completely necessary.**

 **Honestly I'm really excited for this. I haven't seen a story like this done before and I've been dying to write it. I would love, love, love, for your feedback. Please comment and let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, what you think will happen, what I can improve on. Again, please comment and let me know it inspires me to keep the updates coming.**

 **Thank you for reading and I love you all!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This story is not dead and neither am I! Wow I am on fire this week I've managed to update all my fanfics! *pats own back* but really you have to give me a little credit these are LONG chapters and they take forever to write.**

 **If you're still interested in this story, then god bless your precious soul. I had such a hard time debating whether I should drop it but I just couldn't. I personally loved the idea and it was my duty to continue it.**

 **For this story, there will be time jumps between chapters. All in Derek's POV but one will be in 2005 and the other 2017! The dates will be marked at the top of each chapter! Remember to review this for me, I'm a review slut and I can't get enough!**

 **Enough of my rambling, here's chapter 2!**

* * *

 _January 16, 2017_

Another tear drop of water plunges against the stainless steel of his kitchen sink. It's consecutive and the drips are even, plopping in harmony with the pounding storm outside of his home. Though the leaky sink is far more than annoying and is somewhat of a pain in his ass, he can't find the courage or will for that matter to pull himself up and twist the knob slightly right to end the harmless patter. Besides, it's an easy distraction and anything ripping his attention from the papers sprawled over the wooden table were a godsend in his book.

 _'Alcoholics Anonymous'_ are the words his cerulean orbs scan over for what seems to be the ten-millionth time that evening. Though, the words in big, bold, times new roman font, aren't the things making his brain complete and utter mush. It's the tiny words and sentences lined evenly across the paper that sends him into a flurry of nausea and gut curdling pain. "Twelve years." He mutters, exerting a strenuous breath. His lungs inflate and deflate slowly, he believes slow intakes of oxygen could potentially calm his frantic nerves, though it doesn't seem to be doing the trick. "Twelve fucking years." His tone grows in hatred, rises a few octaves at that.

His fingers grip the edge of his kitchen table, turning his knuckles a shade of pasty white. His teeth sink into the flesh of his lower lip, the color coinciding with his hand. He tries incredibly hard to keep the emotions deep inside his chamber of sadness from spilling upward. _He truly does._ Yet the moment hot tears rim the lids of his eyes, the ones he'd been so eagerly _trying_ to suppress, bubble upward and cascade down his clammy cheeks.

His face radiated warmth, his body shuddered while chills trickled along his spine like a pitcher of ice water to the lap. He'd managed to rid this memory from his subconscious for a total of a six months, as in the last twelve years it had come into his brain more than once. Flashes of golden tresses zoom through his thinking chamber in record time, _poof, poof._ His hands pushed the sheets of discarded papers to the side of the table. His chair squawks against the floorboards, _scratch, scratch._

 _Her._ God damnit, _her._ Sometimes he wonders if she's out there, knowingly haunting him just for the sake of it all. _It sure felt like it._ Moments such as these he wishes to every god up in there in the heavens that he hadn't waltzed into that god damned gymnasium all those years prior. Though he's sure he'd most certainly be dead as a door nail by this point. Albeit, some part of his sick, twisty mind wonders if being placed out of his misery would be easier than living in a constant, lonesome pain. His eyes flicker back to the eating area, his stomach twisting as he reminisces momentarily.

 _'Shepherd, Derek'_ is the name nearly printed near the top of the torn envelope. He wishes he were anyone _but_ himself right now. Which in fact only brings him a cluster more of hot tears, due to the reasoning behind everything. How on earth could they expect him to commit to the words typed across the white sheets of printer paper?

Derek's head gabbled as it may be brimmed with puffy clumps of cotton. A splitting migraine was on the express train inward and suddenly thinking no longer became an option. Within seconds, his fingers are gripping the black key fog of his _Porsche Cayenne_ which is an exceptional upgrade from his 03' Land Rover he'd driven around back in the day. The door hinges creek as it widens, and shushes to an eerie quiet once closed.

* * *

A tub of _Ben and Jerry's_ strawberry ice cream plunks to the bottom of the shopping cart abruptly. _Damn he hates this shit_ yet somehow he finds himself in the freezer section of his local _Publix_ gripping that god damn tub of frozen fat. _Her_ god damn tub of frozen fat. In retrospect, it was silly. In fact it was nearly pointing and chuckling at silly. Though somehow, even if the pink, frothy indulgence made his stomach coil in rejection, not devouring oodles of lactose made everything worse.

He slams the pint against the conveyor belt. Derek's fingers rummaging through his pockets in search of the few bills he'd shoved in before exiting his home abruptly earlier.

"Your total is $4.27." A gentle tone reels him back to reality. Momentarily his heart ceases to produce its steady rhythm, pounding similarly to the consecutive melody of a _Clash_ song. _Hard, loud, and fast._

A gush of gold eclipses his vision like a clogged drain. His irises deceive him momentarily and for a split second sparkling emerald orbs are locking into cobalt. Splotches of cinnamon hued freckles dust the porcelain skin of his cashier. A cheshire grin decorates her intricate facial features, complementing the conniving Boston giggle acquitting from her cavern. _"I miss you."_ His phantom divulges, mischief swirls against her glittering eyes. _"Damn it I miss you."_ This time around her tone lowering an octave or two, sobering itself from the playful commentary mumbled only moments prior.

Derek's heart constricts. His chest squeezes. He suddenly feels unable to _breathe._ "I miss you too." Derek replies with a choked sob. His teeth bare down against his tastebuds to disintegrate any lone tears threatening to escape his corneas. He refuses to shed a single droplet of water from his tear ducts.

 _Meredith deserves better than a broken sob. Phantom Meredith or not._

The wild imagery his mind conjured demolishes at the sound of his _true_ cashiers voice. Derek's gut clenches and twists like a gymnast routine. Embarrassment floods his flesh. It's easy to tell individuals are gaping at him. He blinks, _once, twice,_ suddenly the woman he ached for had diminished from his viewing pleasure, not that she'd truly been standing there in the first place. A lump the size of a softball fills his esophagus. Blush licks flames across his neck and he can't seem to find a coherent words to form.

"Sir?" The girls voice diverts his dwindling attention back to the situation he'd produced.

"Sorry." He blurts. He's long forgotten the crumbled money buried somewhere deep in his threadbare jeans pocket. He chooses the latter option, swiftly sliding his _American Express_ through the turmoil. Mentally he's chortling at himself like a hyena. _Who uses a credit card to pay for something so little?_ Derek Shepherd of course. He's beyond ready to escape the grocery store. Times such as these he desires a drink. Only a simple sliver of alcohol to erase the horrific memories riveting across his brain. Though his heart stands much stronger than his brain at this point. Taking a swig of scotch would be as if he were breaking the promise he'd made all those years ago. He vowed to stay loyal. For his own self worth and for _her._

So he purchases a pint of strawberry indulgence to restrain himself.

* * *

The two espresso shots and large caffeinated latte he'd ravenously devoured half an hour earlier hadn't seem to be kicking in quite yet. Derek's teeth sink to the flesh of his lower lip in order to stifle an upcoming yawn. He'd been scheduled to perform a craniotomy in an hour or so. Falling unconscious during the procedure would most definitely be frowned upon. He hadn't slept a wink the prior evening. Brimming anxiety and haunting flashes of the woman he ached for taunted him until the early hours of dawn.

"Good morning, Dr. Shepherd." A red-headed nurse _-what was her name again?-_ chirped a greeting to him. Her arms cradling charts and patient work ups, all firmly pressed to her scrub clad chest. The nurses had a tendency to quip light commentary and flirtatious remarks at him whenever possible. They all seemed to fawn over him like a moth to sunlight. Deep down, Derek wished to do nothing more than throw a flashing billboard to their faces, reading he **wasn't** interested. Then again, he could tattoo the message across his forehead for christ's sake and they'd still be oblivious to his true feelings about it all.

So instead, Derek replies with a simple grin, perhaps a hand wave if he's feeling up to it. "The same to you as well, Olivia." _Olivia, that was the woman's name._ Rumor has it she's endured carnal encounters with more men than there were patients in the hospital and that thought only increases the mental cringe Derek has for her. Besides the fact she'd most certainly been the one to begin the syphillus outbreak within the staff a month earlier, his stomach gurgles in disgust at even the slightest thought of being with a woman.

 _Other than_ _ **her**_ _._

He'd ran himself through the ringer a handful of times since losing the woman he loved. Trying, trying, trying, so desperately to rid her from his mind. To burn the intricately painted canvas of her body from his cranium. Her eyes, lips, nose, porcelain flesh. He would do almost anything to forget the infectious laughter echoing through his head repetitively like some sort of broken record. _Well she had certainly_ _ **broken**_ _him for sure._

A tap of the shoulder broke his thought process. He found himself semi grateful to whoever the hell had decided to bother him now. _Even if it were a horny, desperate nurse._ His neck cranes to his far right, his vision filled with the clear imagery of Mark Sloan. The hospital 'Manwhore' or better known as Derek's best friend. No matter how much that man irked Derek's nerves to no end, he was still the most trustworthy person around these days. Mark had been there through it all, the alcohol, the abuse, the trauma, the endless nights of agony. Even the attempted suicide, Mark Sloan had successfully managed to steer Derek down the proper path.

"You look like _shit_." A sneaky smirk stretches along his friends facial features, a few laugh lines complimenting the combustion of mischief and menacing in his eyes.

Derek rolls his eyes slowly. On any other day he'd reply with something witty. Something too intelligent for Mark to accurately understand the meaning behind. However, he's too fatigued to conjure anything other than an annoyed glance. "It's nice to see you, too." He raises his brows slightly, his forehead crinkling as a result. He chucks the remains of his coffee into the nearby waste bin before his hands find a new home in the security of his lab coat pockets. The pads of his fingertips twiddle the loose strand of thread coming undone near the corner of his left pocket. Perhaps it's something to keep himself preoccupied before having to come clean about whatever stick is up his asshole now.

They pad across the lobby, making a beeline for the elevator. "Rough night?" Mark's tone diluted itself from the conniving and cynical undertone he'd carried moments earlier to something slightly more serious.

Derek pressed the number five - _the surgical floor -_ and acquired a strenuous sigh. His gaze circled around the elevator and he found himself thanking God no one other than he and his best friend were standing in the cabin. "I'm fine." _He's_ _ **always**_ _fine._ "I just didn't sleep much last night, it's not a big deal." The last thing Derek needed at this point was to have a worrisome Mark riding his tail. That man had already been to hell and back for Derek through the corse of the last decade or so. He found himself guilty at times for weighing an excessive amount of strain on Mark. A life worrying over if their best friend is going to kill them selves or not isn't a life worth living at all. Derek resents himself for it constantly.

"Did you finally get _laid_?" Mark's elbow nudges Derek's right side. He can faintly hear the lingering after tone of playfulness brushing against his friends voice.

"Does it look like I got laid?"

His hands go up defensively. He takes a step or two backward to sprinkle on a bit more of effect. "Well I don't know, Derek." His hands fall limp at his sides. "How am I supposed to know what you look like after getting laid. It's not like you've gotten on the saddle in a while."

His convulsion is like a knife to the heart. Deep down Derek knows good and well he hasn't meant a single ounce of harm by it. He knows Mark just desperately wants to see his friend, his _brother_ desire to live life again. To get out there and not be so stuck in a puddle of gunky mud. He too wishes to escape the murky forest of fog trapping him from the glimmer of sunshine on the other side.

Albeit, knowing these things doesn't halt the bitter allegiance from acquiring from between Derek's lips. "You know damn well why **I** haven't ' _hopped on the saddle'_ Mark. I know you can't really understand what it's like for me everyday because you're so busy screwing women you can't find the time to actually fall in _love_ with someone. Don't you think I want to pull myself out of this? I'm twelve years tired of being trapped in the confines of a woman who wants nothing to do with me. But I can't get it off. I'm on a never ending carousel. _I_ _ **can't**_ _get off._ So to answer your question, **no** I haven't gotten laid and I won't be anytime soon."

Silence permeates the elevator. The light hum of the cabin the only true noise pricking Derek's ear drums. He braces himself for an outburst from Mark. Perhaps a punch to the gut or a raging spiel over how pathetic he was being about all of this. He deserved it. He deserved any abuse Mark had fueled himself with. Derek's eyes idly spot Mark's hand slapping over the red emergency button. The elevator comes to an abrupt halt, jerking the men ever so slightly.

"What happened?" The two words escape from between his lips quietly, _soothingly_ almost. Even if Mark hadn't been in love before or could truly relate to Derek's situation, he still _understood_ and that was more than Derek could ask for.

He wants to hit something. To _abuse_ anything at this point. Hatred and anger was over flowing from his mental capacity levels. _He_ _ **hates**_ _being so angry all the time._ "I got a letter." His heart muscles squeeze.

"From _her_?" Mark intervenes. The expression dancing across his facial features is taut. His cobalt eyes widen to the size of saucers at Derek's revelation.

He shakes his head. A letter from _her_ would be punch to the gut. A knife to the back. A bullet to the head. Which in fact all seemed so much better than scanning over a letter she'd written to _him._ But he doesn't deny he pines over hearing from her again. Listening to the melody of her rich tone. _Her_ speaking was an ambrosia for his _ears,_ his _soul,_ his _heart._ She'd been his elixir for a years time, one that sent his world into the stratosphere. She'd been the farthest thing from _normal_ and that's what he loved about that woman. If what he'd considered normal was Venus then she was Neptune. She didn't give a single fuck to anyone else's opinion. She'd been her own person and a damn amazing one at that.

"No." Derek watches Mark's expression deflate to a something pitiful. "No it wasn't from _her._ It was from ' _Alcoholics Anonymous'_."

He scrunches his brow and Derek's certain he knows why Mark seems rather complexed about the confession. "I don't understand." His hand disappears to the back of his head. "How is that bad? I mean you're the sponsor. You've _been_ the sponsor for them since like... forever, man. Of course you're going to get letters. What's so bad about a god damn letter?!" Mark rambles quickly. "You're such a prick sometimes Shep' I swear to God! Getting my ass all worried about you for nothing! Over there pouting and being a little bitch over a letter! You know I thought you were going to tell me you slipped up- wait did your dumbass slip up?!" Derek's shakes his head. "Or I thought you were going to tell me you tried to kill yourself again- wait did you?" Again. This time accompanied by revealing his clean wrists to Mark. "For gods sake, Derek. I thought you were going to tell me she showed up. That Mer-"

It's in that moment Derek cuts him off. "Do not say her goddamn name, Mark!" He barks like a trapped dog in a cage. The hostility is so thick at this point, a surgical scalpel couldn't seep through. "And if you would have let me finish, I could have told you the letter stated I needed to write and present a speech."

He blinks. "Okay? What's the problem with writing a speech. You've done it before. At medical conferences. In front of your AA group back when you attended regular meetings. You do it for your interns and residents. What's the matter?"

Derek doesn't blame Mark for his confusion. It's easy to tell his patience is wearing somewhat thin and again, Derek doesn't blame him for it. Personally he feels like the most _annoying_ man on the face of the earth at times and he ponders continuously how Mark continues to sludge through it all. Another reason he can't stay mad at him, _even when he's irking his last nerve._

"Mark." He can't keep the hot tears from pooling in his eyes. "They want me to talk about _her._ They want me to go to some huge conference in Boston at the end of next month and present a speech in front of thousands of people. They want me to talk about how I got here and why I keep myself clean. I can't do that! It's awful enough thinking about her constantly and imagining her everywhere I go-"

"You're seeing _her_ on other people again?"

"That's not the point Mark!" Derek yells and chokes back a sob. His face is scorching with underlying heat and somewhat embarrassment. What grown man cries over a woman in front of his best friend. _His brother._ His hands are frenzied through his thick mane of raven hair. He tugs and yanks on his tresses. He wants nothing more than the never ending yo-yoing to end completely. "The point is that I have to _tell_ people about _her._ I can't do it. I. Can. Not. Do. It!"

A pair of arms envelope his shaking frame. He feels worthless and the equivalent of a coward. He feels small, weak, ruined, and disgusted. He's a grown man, shouldn't he be able to fight back the urge to break down? He's utterly humiliated but the tears won't quite and neither will Mark's tight embrace.

"I'm such an idiot. This is _so_ stupid." Derek murmurs, releasing a huff.

"It's not stupid, Derek. It's not stupid. I'm sorry, I'm sorry you live in a constant whirl of pain. It sounds awful and I'm just goddamn sorry." His grip around Derek's back tightens.

"It's not your fault, Mark." Quiet settles around the two. "It's not your fault I fell in love with her."

Mark doesn't respond, but he's quite positive Mark still feels some kind of guilt even if the situation truly has nothing to do with him. Somedays Derek wishes he'd never gotten out the car twelve years ago. Somedays he wishes he didn't feel the things he felt for _her._ Somedays he wishes his suicide attempt had worked.

Though somedays, he does have inches of hope. Sure, those inches have been shaved bit by bit over time but it doesn't mean a sliver of light hasn't shined at the end of his tunnel before. _The light at the end of the tunnel._ Somedays when he isn't busy drowning himself in his career or preoccupying his mind with random bullshit to forget _her,_ he finds himself thankful he'd found her in the first place. She had completely flip flopped his life around, for the better and the worst. Some of those long term effects of greatness bring a grin to his cheeks on rare occasions. The actuality being he'd been able to keep himself sober for a long time because of that woman. He finds himself grateful for that while performing surgeries, playing with his nieces and nephews, divulging in on never ending conversations with the Shepherd Clan.

 _It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all._ His new mantra. The thing that keeps him going even when he wants to snap like a twig.

* * *

 **Yikes it's been quite a while since I've updated this. I hadn't known if I was going to continue this or not considering I was still fuzzy on where I wanted to take this story. It's been a hectic few months and like I've mentioned in all my updates this week, it's been incredibly hard getting the words down on the screen!**

 **I think I've rid myself of the remaining bits of writers block I've had. Trust me it's been awful I couldn't write anything! On the bright side it's over now and updates will be so much more frequent I promise!**

 **On another note, what were your thoughts of the chapter? I couldn't decide whether I wanted to go back and forth in time and when I decided I did want to, I couldn't decide if I wanted one to be Derek's POV and one Meredith's. honestly it's been an ongoing struggle. But I've decided this will be Derek's story to tell and Meredith's will be told through Derek's perspective. I've left you all with a lot of holes and cliffhangers and personally I love that about stories such as these that go back and forth in time.**

 **Don't be mad there was no MerDer because if you payed close attention, there was in fact a lot of Meredith and Derek going on (;**

 **A lot of sensitive topics will be discussed in this story and I wanted to warn you that I'm not complete expert on any of these. No matter how much time I google and use my own personal sources, it will never be as authentic as if I'd been through this myself. Nonetheless, I think I've done a pretty good job at capturing it so far and I'm excited because I've never seen a MerDer story done like this.**

 **Please review for me. The more reviews, the more I want to update. I eat reviews and favorites up like a candy or something because I just love seeing what you all think! Plus they totally warm my heart and make me smile to no end (:**

 **Thank you for sticking with me, you're all amazing and I love writing for others and making their days! Love you guys!**


	3. Chapter 3

_January 28th, 2005_

The E.R bustles with noise and movement. Derek's sure he'd never seen a completely dull moment in this vicinity, yet currently he desires for nothing more than that. Residency is a step up from the gruesome work of an intern by a long shot, for sure. Though it doesn't erase the cold hard truth of it all that in all, being a surgical resident still sucks almost as much as being an intern. The attending's still treat the residents with 'kid gloves' and frankly, it's the most frustrating thing in the entire galaxy.

He'd worked his ass off to be here, working, saving lives. The tiresome nights of cramming for the next nerve-jerking exam and the years and years of Grad, Under Grad, and Medical school. Derek would like to think his efforts deserved a little more than the shit he'd been provided as of now. Suturing was a job for the lowest of the surgical food chain. Not for the third year resident who should be performing surgery in an O.R.

He spots Mark Sloan making a beeline to his general vicinity through the corner of his eye. He doesn't miss the wickedly sinister grin preening across his cheeks like a Cheshire Cat either. Derek acquits a single breath and continues to mindlessly stitch of his patients forearm, hoping that if he pretended to be unaware of the man coming toward him, he would pass. It wasn't that Derek didn't like Mark, because he did. Hell, that man was practically his goddamn brother for christ sake. They'd been through everything together, grade school, high school, college, Medical school. They were even doing residency together. Albeit, none of those factors drew away from the cold hard truth of it all that Mark Sloan got on his nerves a lot of the time. He was especially in no mood for small talk about whatever idiotic thing was roaming that mans mind either. Besides the fact Mark virtually only coerced about the women he picked up in the bar the night before, he was fearful his friend of a lifetime would question him on how his first session with the counseling group went.

Derek wasn't seeking on divulging the details of the issue.

"Man, I gotta tell you I just scrubbed in on a rhinoplasty and it was fucking awesome!" Derek jolts as Marks palm makes physical contact with his back. The green eyed monster or envy sifts through his veins as he reminisces over the fact Mark is scrubbing in on multiple surgeries a day whilst he whittles away in the E.R. suturing.

Derek doesn't miss the disapproving glance his patient tosses him at the sound of Mark's foul language either. "Dr. Sloan, how about we keep the colorful vocabulary to a minimum around the patients?" A tight lipped grin creeps across his cheeks as he finishes the stitching of his suture.

He gives a slight nod and clasps his fingers around the woman's palm securely. "I am so sorry, ma'am." Mark apologizes, his tone rich and velvety. "I promise that won't happen again."

Derek feels his stomach coiling watching Mark flirt with the what he presumes to be a middle aged woman. The sight is nauseating at minimum. He he throws his patient a faux grin and indicates her she's good to leave. "Once you put your signature on the sign out sheet by the nurses station, you're good to go." Derek informs, giving her a hand direction toward the nurses station. She grins sweetly and Derek feels vomit conjuring in his throat as he watches Mark wink at the patient.

"You know," Derek sighs, cleaning up his station. "It's surprising they haven't kicked you out of the program yet. I mean, you don't follow any of the rules plus you try and flirt with the patients. Which in my opinion is a tad bit nauseating." His rubber gloves yank off with a snap against his flesh and he disposes of them into the medically waste bin near the trauma room.

Mark snorts and shakes his head. "Shep, they wouldn't fire me for anything. _I_ am the best resident you know." His arm slings around Derek's shoulders, tugging him close as they make their way through the bustling emergency room. "What's got your panties in a twist?" He leans in close. "Are you hungover?"

Derek jerks, pulling his figure away from Marks hold. Seriousness eclipses his facial expression. "No, I am not hungover, Mark." He growls in response.

"Man, it's okay if you are." His elbow nudges Derek's ribcage. "I won't tell the 'Misses.'" A snarky smirk crosses Mark's cheeks.

"You don't have to tell Addison anything, Mark. Because I'm sober and I haven't drank." Derek growls. His hands shove into the fabric of the sewn in pockets of his lab coat. His feet trudge along the speckled tiles lining the corridor. The hallway is barren which is strangely odd considering it's normally one of the most chaotic pathways in the building, due to its immediate contact to the E.R. He doesn't let his mind ponder over it for too long, primarily due to the fact Mark is tagging alongside him like a magnet to a pole.

In some ways, Derek aches to be able to admit what the hell he's going through to his long time best friend. Not that Mark had ever made a comment or come close, but Derek's certain he's skeptical of his drinking problem. Mark loved to get wasted as much as the next guy, but he knew when it was time to slow down. Derek didn't. Looking back on their many excursions together, he wonders if Mark purposely suggested laying low at the apartment some of the time instead of going out because he didn't want to see his friend lit up like a Christmas tree. It's embarrassing enough to admit he has a serious problem, even more so admitting he's a freak trying to be counseled and healed.

He's yet to miss a single meeting, not that they'd had many lately. Albeit, he's bounced the idea of skipping out on his mental teeter totter a plentiful of times. "Okay, okay." Mark says. "So you're sober, good for you." He pats Derek's spine.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek questions defensively. He realizes he's only dug his hole deeper by reacting in such a way. But he just can't help it. It's a mechanism. Almost like his own security blanket to defend himself over a disease he most certainly has.

Mark furrows his brow to a crease. He may an asshole who's rubbed against more woman than a male prostitute, but he's no moron. And he can easily catch when something's bothering Derek, even if that means bugging the ever living hell out of him to find out. Derek resents it. "Whoa, it doesn't mean anything. I know you've come into work drunk a few times I-"

"I wasn't drunk!" His echo booms against the empty walls of the corridor. "I would never come to work and jeopardize the safety of this hospitals patients! I may have come in barring a slight hangover but I wouldn't come to work drunk, take it back!" His finger stabs the baby blue fabric of Mark's scrubs.

Mark narrows his eyes at Derek. He gazes for what seems like an eternity of time before his lips part. "Man, what is going on with you?" He backs away a step or two from Derek's general area. His arms fold across his chest. "I only asked if you were hungover because I know Addie, doesn't like it and I know you wouldn't want her to know. That comment about you being drunk... I-I didn't mean it as deeply as you took it." Silence warps them. Blankets them. Suffocates them and chokes them, leaving them gasping for air. Derek can hear his heart thrumming in his ears. He feels the pound booming against his ribcage. Sweat pearls at the back of his neck and hairline. How does he respond?

"If this," Mark breaks the quiet wasteland. "If this is about your drinking problem I, I know about it. I know you don't think I know, but I know. Derek I don't think any less of you, I just. I just want to help you, man."

Derek's tongue slides across the lower portion of his chapped lip. The breath he exerts and is haggard and shaky. "I don't have a drinking problem. I'm not an alcoholic nor have I ever been. I don't need you to be my babysitter, Mark. Leave me the hell alone."

He trails down the hallway, keeping his held high even though his heart is disintegrating down low in the pit of his stomach. He has a million problems on his mind but he's thankful Mark following him right now isn't one of them. One less problem to worry over he assumes. One less thing to want to drink over. One less thing.

* * *

He's early for his meeting and that thought doesn't sit well with him. In retrospect, he'd been cut from his shift earlier than expected and he wouldn't have had enough time to head home and lounge around for a while. He certainly doesn't have the gas money to cruise around the city all wild and free and it was far too cold to sit like an idiot on his motorcycle. He'd left his beat up Land Rover back at home today, considering it really was a piece of shit and his motorcycle made him slightly better about things, even though he couldn't explain it.

The gym door slams behind him, leaving an echo to bounce off the ceiling for a moment or two. He spies a few people already slumped over in their hard plastic chairs, however one familiar face catches his eye. _Meredith._ He doesn't dare jump to conclusions, but he's almost certain she's just as exuberant to see him as he is to her. Over the last couple sessions, he's grown rather fond of her and out of the whole group, she seems rather sane. Well, as sane as a drug addict can be. The thing he enjoys most about being in her presence would have to be that he doesn't feel like a drunken loser. She makes him feel normal and he'd trade average for freak show any day.

"You're here early." Derek quips, letting his bag and motorcycle helmet fall in a heaping pile by his seat.

The left corner of her smile quirks upward and her elbows find a new place to rest against her knees. "The same goes to you, McDreamy."

Derek's brow crinkles. McDreamy? Where the hell had she conjured that one from? He doesn't let his brain think on it too hard, not that he cares that much anyways. He prefers being judged over his looks instead of his drinking habits anytime. "I don't think I've ever been called that before." He preens like a peacock.

Meredith snorts, twisting her frame at a forty-five degree angle. Her fingers caress his cheek, the pads trailing down his thickened stubble. Her irises find his own and they glimmer, despite the dull overcast in which he assumes the drugs in her system have a major part behind. Nonetheless, they're a bright and beautiful emerald. Majestic. Mysterious. She'd yet to give intimate details about her story, he's completely sure she has one. Albeit, he intends on figuring it out some way or another.

"Oh come on, you're practically Prince Charming." She giggles and he can hear her rich Boston accent fluttering beneath the laughter. "Look at that coifed hair and those blue eyes. You just ooze fairytales and dreaminess. Not to mention you have a motorcycle, which in my opinion is super hot." He listens as her tongue flicks against the roof of her mouth, exaggerating the 'T' in hot. Meredith coercing the word hot almost gives him the hots strangely.

He chuckles nervously, watching as Meredith sluggishly pulls her hand away from his face. "How did you know I have a motorcycle?" He asks. His face is a scolding cauldron of heat and embarrassment, though what was there to be blushing over? He'd been given a compliment, what was the big deal? Patients gave him the same "goo-goo" eyes all the time, what made Meredith a special participant?

"I can see your helmet." Her slender finger points in the direction of his black helmet. His cheeks bubble with steam.

He watches Meredith lean back in her chair, arms folded neatly across her small chest. Not that there was anything wrong with particularly petite breasts, they fit her well. "So," she begins. "I've been trying my best to piece together why someone like you, is such an alcoholic? Not that I'm saying you can't be one. Anyone can be an abuser of alcohol. But you just don't seem like the type. Tell me your story."

"Why should I tell you my story, huh? I don't see you volunteering to provide any details of your journey."

"Would you want me to?"

Derek's front teeth bare into the flesh of his bottom lip. He leans forward, smirking devilishly. "How about if I tell you what went down, you tell me what went down with you. Good deal?"

"Is this going to be a, 'If you show me yours, I'll show you mine' kind of deal?" Meredith inches closer and she mimics the conniving smirk dancing across cheeks. Her eyes twinkle with mischief and his stomach lurches at the sight.

Derek straightens his posture, sitting back. "That sounded vaguely dirty." He adds.

"What if I meant it to be that way?" Meredith lifts her right brow and tilts her head to the side. It's no secret this girl is feisty. She has little to no filter and it almost makes him nervous to hear her story about becoming a drug addict. She's a walking question mark practically. He has a cluster of jumbled questions racing in his mind about her but doesn't know where to begin or how to start.

He chokes at her response. Had she been flirting with him this whole time? He's quite positive she knows about Addison, his pending fiancée. But then again, does she really care all that much? He had been leading her on to an extent. With the mischievous expressions and sly comments. He'd let her stroke his cheek and conduct a porny comment.

"Oh don't get your panties into a twist." Meredith chuckles. "I know you have a pristine girlfriend you care more about than anything. I was making a joke, Derek. I'm not a dirty mistress you know."

"I didn't think you were." He defends himself and a serious look crosses his features.

Meredith does nothing more than grin, showing off her pearly whites. The plastic chair squeaks as she rests against the back of the chair. "I was seventeen." Her expression dilutes to something more solum and serious. "I was the girl with fiery pink hair and wore a lot of black. I didn't go to prom or obsess over boys. I was alone and I liked it that way. I um, I was actually top of my class." Blush blankets her plum cheeks. "I got invited to some stupid party. Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about going but my mom and I had this huge fight, an even bigger one than we normally had. Long story short, I wound up at the party, I met this girl named Sadie and she was smoking some pot and offered it to me. Since then I've migrated from joints to snorting full on lines of cocaine. I tried getting off, I was even in medical school once but I was too high and I couldn't keep up with my bills." Meredith exerts a sigh. "So now here I am, twenty-one, drowning in debt, at a fucking counseling circle I don't want to even be at."

Derek's Adam's apple rolls as he gulps. His fingers clasp around his knees, brushing against the worn fabric of his threadbare jeans. He truthfully hadn't expected that, especially the part about her being in medical school. In the back of his mind he suspects something else is a motivator behind the yearn of her addiction, though he doesn't push or even try to ask because he himself wouldn't want to be in that position either. "I'm sorry." He says.

"Don't be sorry." Meredith smirks and leans forward once more. "Now it's your turn. I fessed up so now you have to as well." She winks at him and his heart thrums.

"There's not much to tell." His tone is suddenly hoarse and he feels choked up before even beginning. "When I was fifteen my dad was shot for his watch right in front of my sister and I. After that I just started drinking. A beer every few days went to a beer everyday. I had people buying me six packs, hell I even had a fake I.D." Derek chuckles, reminiscing on the distant memories of trotting into convenient stores with Mark at the mere age of sixteen.

 _"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Derek asked. Even being sixteen, Derek was rather behind on the puberty thing. He'd had barely a single hair on his chest much less any on his face. He was scrawny and frail, unlike his best friend Mark who had bulked out in more ways than one. He could pass for a thirty year old man with the thick forest of stubble coating his face._

 _Mark chortled cynically, slapping Derek's back with his palm. "Of course we should! Come on Shep, don't be such a little baby."_

 _Derek shoves his fists into his pockets, his fingers toying with the loose string coiled inside. "I'm not being a baby, Mark. I'd rather not be arrested today or any day for that matter!" He responds. His toes curl inside the soles of his beat up black converse. He rocks back and forth on his heels, keeping a steady glare on the glass windows of the store. He can clearly capture the image of the freezer near the back of the store holding the alcoholic beverages captive, most of which are various brands of beers. He'd gotten a few older guys to buy him a drink or two in the past, patiently waiting outside around the corner. Though never had he tried to purchase one for himself._

 _Deep down, in the pit of his guy he knew this was wrong. He knew his father wouldn't approve of him illegally drinking or drinking at all. He wouldn't have wanted his only son to be a raging alcoholic at only sixteen. Albeit, the raging anger bubbled inside of him. The image of his father landing against the rough terra-cotta on his backside forever engraved across his brain. He desired to forget it. Forget the haunting memories of his father bleeding out right before his eyes. His hands covered in his own fathers blood. Derek didn't yearn to ever remember that. The drinks helped, the drinks helped him loose himself into another oblivion. What was so bad about that?_

 _"Alright." Derek mumbled, shakily pulling his I.D. out and the few crumpled dollar bills from his jeans pocket. "Lets just get it over with." Mark lit up like a night sky of stars, instantly racing inside. The ring of the bell hanging above the door felt distant to his ears. He simply huffed a sigh and pushed through the glass entry way, leaving his fears and troubles by the threshold._

"I really didn't even think it was a big deal. I mean, not until my girlfriend Addison mentioned she wasn't a fan of my heavy drinking. That's when I took things into account and decided maybe I do need help." He fumbled with his fingers, a mechanism to keep himself distracted.

He watches Meredith nod out of the corner of his eye. A peculiar expression crosses her face. "So you're getting help because of her, not for yourself?" Her bold bravado is almost like a dagger to the heart and truth be told he didn't know why it felt that way. _Stab, stab._

Derek's mouth is dry as he breaches his reply. "What? No, no I'm doing it for me." He defends in the similar way he has earlier that day to Mark when he'd called him out for being an alcoholic. "She's a large part of why I'm doing it but she isn't the sole reason. I want to be healthy and alive in twenty years and I want to be living that life with _her._ " Rage builds within him. "And you're one to be talking, every time I'm here it doesn't seem like you're too interested in getting help. I mean come on don't pretend you aren't high as a kite right now."

Meredith seems taken back by his comment. It was the first true time he'd seen her serious in the short time he'd known her. "Look, just because this counseling circle is filled with a bunch of freaks and just because our counselor is an annoying prick with a weird ass name and too gelled hair, doesn't mean I don't want help. Being a drug addict isn't an over night fix you know. You out of anyone here should know that best considering your sister is one. I have dreams too. I wanted to be a hot shot surgeon just like your ass and just because I'm not in the proper state of mind to be one now doesn't mean I'll never be. I wouldn't come to these sessions if I didn't want help."

She sits back in her chair and huffs. The sound of the door closing draws them away from their brewing fight. Finn has entered and he's carrying that perky grin with him. "Meredith." Derek starts, reaching out to brush his fingers against her shoulder.

"We're starting now." She growls, dodging his touch.

Derek sinks low in his seat. Dissonance rivets between he and Meredith and a wave of sorrow washes him over. He doesn't know why but hurting Meredith's feelings is certainly the last thing he intends on doing. The thought grips at his gut and twists it like a pretzel. He's yearning to apologize.

"Okay." Derek says, waving his white flag high in sky as a surrender.

* * *

"Meredith!" Derek shouts. Meredith had given him the cold shoulder for the majority of their session thar evening. She being angry with him wasn't settling with him and he couldn't shake it. Of course it shouldn't matter, he barely knew this woman. Especially since she'd thrown a few insults his way the few times they'd seen one another and he'd let them slide easily. Albeit, she'd been joking and from a different perspective, he can easily see why she was so offended.

A spur of golden blonde twists and his eyes lock on a pair of emerald orbs. "Oh, so I see you've decided to open your big mouth again?" She replies and a hint of underlying anger simmers throughout her tone.

Derek acquits a tired grunt. He's almost positive he isn't going to be getting very far with this. "Meredith, seriously, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that, it just came out of my mouth and before I knew what I was saying it had already been said."

"It's fine." She grins and for a moment Derek thinks he's off the hook. "You're a guy. You say shit you shouldn't be saying. You pretend to know everything and I can tell just by knowing you for a few weeks that you have an ego the size of Texas and plus you're training to be a surgeon, who in fact have the biggest head ever. So now you're trying to apologize for something in hopes I'll forgive you because if I were to botch your manly ego then it would be like a bullet to the chest, correct?"

Derek's brow furrows in utter confusion. "Meredith I-"

"Save it." She snaps. Meredith steps forward, cupping his cheek with her thin fingers. The pads of her fingertips grabble across his stubbled cheek. "I've heard it all." Meredith winks. In retrospect, she's standing far too close for comfort but his senses are on overdrive. He doesn't deny the simple fact he's enjoying her in his proximity. He relishes the closeness. "But you do have one thing going for you." She admits.

"And what the hell is that?"

"You're determined." She simply states, yanking her hand back to her side. "And I like determined men. So for that, you get a pass. But I swear to god the next time you try and test me I'll give you a bounty of hell you're sure to never forget."

Derek snorts, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He gazes intricately as Meredith walks, well more so bounces backward to her car. He spies a purple Jeep distantly parked in the background and a grin stretched across his face. _Only she would have a car as colorful as she was_. "Propose to your girlfriend!" She yells across the parking lot. "I know you're dying to do it. She's lucky to have you." Meredith's infectious giggle bounces across the distance between them and a warmth spreads through his figure.

Meredith was bound to be the death of him.

* * *

 **EEEK! I updated! I hope this made up for the long wait as well as the lack of Meredith in the last chapter. I love this storyline so much considering I don't think I've ever seen this done.**

 **Yes, Mark is a manwhore in any universe in my book. He's also a huge asshole but that's who makes him who is and why we all love him (;**

 **I promise Addison Montgomery is making an appearance in an upcoming chapter! I know all you MerDer fanatics are freaking out considering Derek is going to propose to Addison and I promise he will do it. But if it makes you feel any better we all see how that works out in the time jump!**

 **Unfortunately next chapter is set in the future and it will continue to jump back and forth like that throughout the story. But I assure you all next chapter is going to involve a few familiar Grey's faces plus a flashback or two of Derek's life after Meredith.**

 **I would love any comments you have! A review would make my day honestly and it makes me want to update more often!**

 **Thanks for reading, you are all fabulous!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey friends. I understand it has been an incredibly long time since I touched this story. Two years? I feel guilty for even having to say that. When I got back into writing I still loved this plot. I always have. I find it to be original as I've never seen something else like it. I love MerDer and I love this story. I want to keep sharing it with you all.**

 **If you don't remember this picks up in the future. Each chapter goes back and forth. We are still doing the year 2017 even though it is 2019 now. If you could do me a huge favor and please leave a review it would mean the world to me. Reviews are the best way to ensure quick updates as they are always inspiring and wonderful.**

 **If you're reading this, thank you for taking the time to support MerDer. Now on with the chapter.**

* * *

 _March 12, 2017_

Derek let nearly two months slip by and still no reciprocation to the Alcoholics Anonymous organization. He ignored, stalled, and pushed aside the event for as long as humanly possible. It's what Derek did when a crisis tumbled to his path and he had no earthly notion how to overcome it.

Derek ran. He, alongside all the other Shepherd's, were runners.

A piece of him wanted to be strong enough to reply with a _yes_ and divulge a heartfelt speech to thousands of individuals at a banquet. But he couldn't. In hindsight Derek wasn't strong enough to placate a brave expression to an audience when his insides were crumbling. Getting healthy meant absolutely nothing if Derek couldn't have Meredith Grey.

They flooded his voicemail perpetually, begging that Derek return their calls. Even if the answer was _no_ the least he could do was find the decency to announce it. His brain was cognizant of the answer he wanted to say. Delivering a speech of that nature would trigger him and possibly bring him back down to a drunken stupor each night.

So why was it this damn difficult to pick up the phone and say it?

Maybe he was being in denial about his actual feelings toward the event. Derek was proud of himself for getting sober and there was this piece lodged down under that _possibly_ itched to be relinquished. But he couldn't do it. No matter how many times Mark insisted or Addison bellowed.

Not without Meredith.

The air outside was crisp. A refreshing blast of near springtime air curled against his skin. The wind whipped and rattled his ebony locks. A louder slam made a pronounced echo across the woods. An adjacent slam followed his and Derek watched while Mark escaped his black Porsche.

"Why the hell are we here?" Mark moaned.

Derek reached into the trunk for the poles and bait. "To fish." He stated with a simple smirk. He locked his SUV and the two of them made a stride for the familiar dock.

When Derek moved to Seattle at the beginning of his internship, this piece of land was found by mistake. He was drunk, per usual of the time, and needed a quiet place to decompress. After hiking the majority of the day with Mark, Derek stumbled across these gorgeous acres. He was met with an abandoned airstream trailer. Derek resided in that thing for years. He recently bought the land when becoming financially stable enough to do so and planned to have a house built here sometime in the future.

A manifold of memories were made just below his feet. Derek's heart swelled with pain.

"You're obsessed with this place." Mark sighed. His tackle box clanked against the fishing rod as they shuffled through the moist grass. "Do you realize how many lakes there are in Seattle? We don't have to take an hour drive out here to catch some damn fish."

Derek chuckled lowly. "It's fun here. It has a lot of memories and besides since we're the only ones who come out here to fish we catch the most."

Mark's boots clanked akin to a thumping heartbeat when he migrated over the rickety dock. "Yeah, memories of you trying to hurt yourself." He mumbled the scornful comment below his breath. Perhaps it wasn't Mark's intention for Derek to catch wind of the comment but then again his best friend was the most blunt person he'd ever met.

He gulped back bile building in his throat. Derek raked a hand through his thick curls. "Are you ever going to let that go?" He said, agitation laced his tone.

"You're practically my brother. I've watched you suffer through hell. Excuse me if coming out here makes me think of all that horror you underwent." Mark Sloan was not a sentimental man. He screwed every nurse and resident at Seattle Grace without question and laughed during funerals. The only times Derek can remember his _brother_ breaking down those barriers was for him. The first person Derek saw after waking up in the ICU eleven years ago was Mark. He witnessed Mark silently cry over Derek's turmoil for months. The same man that vowed to screw every female inside the hospital went to church every Sunday for almost a year with Derek's mother and sisters, praying for _him_ that happiness would come his way.

Derek was cognizant his actions permanently fucked with Mark and he understood that. Watching your best friend nearly die is brutal.

He would know, Meredith nearly did and he was there when it went down.

Shaking his head, Derek mumbled, "I'm sorry. If coming out here makes you uncomfortable. I know it's where you..." Derek's throat is clogged by emotion. "Found me." He continued. "I just think it's peaceful. That shit happened so long ago and I'm better now. I'm content. I don't think about going back to that dark place. But if being here makes you this uncomfortable, then we'll stop." Derek meant that too. When everyone else left him alone as his disease took over, Mark stayed.

"I know you love it here man." Mark said quietly. "I think I'm just being a crackhead. I thought maybe the AA guys asking you to speak at their benefit would trigger you or something."

Derek eased himself into the lounge chairs they left out by the dock years ago. It's navy hue lost its luster over the years of harmful sun rays. A ghost of Meredith is curled beside him. She's swathed by his shirt and a pair of loose fitted boxer shorts. Her image faded when Mark settled back in the chair.

"I'm not as susceptible anymore. Ten years ago a letter like that might have ended me. I can move past it now, Meredith is gone." He cleared his throat, leant toward, and twirled the lever on his pole. It was a rare day not a single cottony cloud elicited the Seattle skies. The suns scorching beams brought warmth to Derek's neck and back. It was an easy contrast fighting against the swishes of wind passing through.

Mark casted his line. "Then why haven't you answered them back?"

It was a loaded question. Derek truly couldn't decipher why sending a reply was so brutal for him. What was the pang in his heart questioning this situation?

Meredith would be disappointed in Derek replying with a no. He imagined the way she might have shoved his shoulder and bitch at him for turning down the offer. She would have been proud of him. So fucking proud that he turned his life around. What good was all this if he didn't celebrate the occasion?

Derek leaned forward. His chair creaked in age and he cast his line forward to the murky lake. "I don't know." It was the only answer Derek could think. His brain and heart were at war with each other. One delving no and the latter pleading yes.

Silence spread between the two men. Only the noises of nature brimming their quiet stance. "Shep," Mark cleared his throat. "I'm glad you're better. I'm happy that you feel normal and don't want to overdose or stab your carotid. But it doesn't matter what I say because at the end of the day it's clear who's opinion matters over mine."

Derek crinkled his furry brows with confusion. "What?"

A cynical chuckle relapsed from his friends cavern. "You make every decision based off of Meredith Grey. I said her name and if you're really better, that won't bother you. So think Derek. Think really fucking hard if you denying this offer is the best decision you'll make."

His words cut deep akin to a ten-blade. Mark had no business deciding whether or not Meredith was a sore subject. She would always be one and that was the clincher. "I don't fucking make every decision based on her!" Derek snapped.

"Oh please. Everything and I mean _everything_ depends on what Meredith would want." He growled.

Derek unfurled his fingers from the rod. The device clanked hard against the rickety dock. He stood. "You don't have any idea what the hell you're talking about." He rasped.

"I've listened to you bitch about her for over a decade now! A fucking decade. You can't even decide what shirt to wear every morning without questioning if she would think the color looked good on you or not."

"That's not true." Derek's cheeks burned with anger.

Mark scoffed. "Meredith doesn't care about you. She never did. I was here, not her. I called the ambulance when I found you unresponsive. I sat by your side in the ICU. I let you cry on me like goddamn girl over some chick that used you! Meredith left you alone. She didn't ever care about you. She was a drug addict who USED YOU!"

Derek's insides turned in an aching knot. This argument was a long time brewing. He watched as Mark struggled to keep his personal beliefs on the situation to himself. For years, it was his best friend biting his tongue back to _spare_ Derek's feelings. He wasn't a goddamn child. He could handle a little brutal honesty.

However, what Derek would **never** tolerate was direct slander toward the woman who permanently changed his life. "Shut up. The fuck up." He sneered. Derek's teeth were gritting and grinding.

"You don't get to tell me to shut up. Not when I've done nothing but sit by your side-"

"THERE YOU GO AGAIN!" Derek's voice boomed. His tone echoed across the woodsy venue and he could have sworn the lake water shook. A cauterizing heat overcame him as he clenched both fists. "For the last ten years all you have ever done is rub it in my face that you were here! You want to go on and on about saving my life and getting me better. But have you have ever thought I never wanted to be better? I should have died! I wanted to die because for the first time in my life alcohol couldn't numb the pain. Nothing made me feel better, NOTHING!"

Mark stared. "And for the record," Derek continued in a gasping breath. "She was the love of my life. The year I spent with her was the best year of my life. She wasn't a slimy drug addict, she was sick. She was diseased and it's awful. You'll never, _ever_ understand what that's like. And you don't get to put yourself on a high horse for 'taking care of me.' I took care of myself. I got better because you and the rest of the family refused to let me go and that forced me to better myself."

With that thought in the open, Mark grabbed his fishing pole and bait box. "Fine. Then be by yourself. You compare everything and everyone to a girl you barely knew. Not to mention she treated you like ass. I won't sit here and coddle you anymore. Be alone."

"Where are you going?" Derek said.

"Calling a cab." He replied through a grunt and soon his friend was gone.

Tears pooled at his stormy eyes. In a way, Mark was right. Albeit Derek and his stubborn tendencies wouldn't allow anyone to overpower the infamous Meredith Grey. She was perfection in Derek's eyes. Even when everyone else insisted she destroyed him. Why couldn't Derek let her out of his mind? Was the passion they shared in that time together lust and not love? There's a real possibility the fantasy lie in his head. Their relationship seemed to be just as one sided just like everyone said.

Derek yelled. Hard and long and drawn out. The sort of breaking scream that left his throat cracked. His foot kicked the cooler. _Her_ little red ice chest into the dark and murky water ahead of him.

* * *

The door of the trailer creaked. Similar the noice of a squawking bird. There was probably rust in the bolts or screws. The airstream sat abandoned on this land for years. After the near suicide, his family made the executive decision of getting him away from the metal box. He remembered throwing a brawl with them over the idea of selling his land and leaving the place he called home for his internship at Seattle Grace. A compromise was made. Derek left the trailer but the land stayed and when he got successful enough, he could purchase it to build a house.

Every once in a while he dropped by the trailer to store shit or clean up. This was his ode to Meredith in a way. Anything associated with her was either boxed inside or safely packed away. The last time it was in full use was about a year ago when Mark suggested they take it camping. The trip ended on a sour note when Derek found an old blue tank-top of her's.

He was greeted by the fragrance of dust and must. The sun gleaming inward from the windows faded the interior of the trailers contents. Wilted lavender centered the tiny kitchen table. Derek padded forward to grab the vase and shucked its contents to the trash. The area was neat. Crisp. A visual representation of Derek's personality to an exact.

Flashes of a time to when Meredith cluttered this place made his head swirl. God, she had to be the messiest human being he'd ever encountered. That woman left tooth paste clumps in the sink and her bra by the toilet. Memories cascaded his brain to picking up her after her. At least that was when he wasn't too drunk or possibly screwing her against a windowpane.

Now the trailer is bare of her crap crowding the floor. It was near... sterile. When she left Derek couldn't bring himself to leave the airstream or make the effort to clean it up. He wallowed in her junk. When his family forced him out they helped declutter the place and ever since that same naked feeling he felt now scattered the vicinity.

Derek curled his fingers into the warm chamber of his pockets. The inside of his once beloved home was cold. It reminded him much of the OR. Lifeless. He strutted to the kitchen counter. The fridge hummed. Curiosity poked him and he opened it. An open beer perched on the bottom shelf. It must've been Mark's from when they last used it. He was tempted to grab it. Yank the damn bottle and guzzle it. Beer didn't do much for him in terms of numbing him. After a while he grew immune to its power. Although, if he gulped enough of it a slight buzz came around.

But he refused his bodies plead. The fridge door slammed and he soon turned his attention to the cabinets, cupboards, drawers. He really didn't remember what lied within them. The typical objects rested there. Silverware and old mail. Coffee mugs he hadn't seen for ages.

Nothing of Meredith's would be this easy to locate. A lot of her stuff Mark and his mother sealed to confined spots of his trailer. Derek took care of the more personal stuff. The shit he refused to let them handle because it was too personal.

He pushed his body down the curt corridor. Shower to his left and toilet to his right. His heart fluttered when he thought of the memories they spent in this enclave. Especially when the front half of his cross trainers hit the bed frame. It was nearly made. No throw pillows or frilly things. He remembers when Addison was his fiancée, she begged he had some color to this beige oasis.

Meredith insisted the opposite. Plain Jane was her mantra. She never needed the fancy clothes or fast paced lifestyle the way Addison did. Meredith was content being exactly who she was.

The few times he can remember she was sober, Meredith glowed. When her veins weren't being pumped full of dusty poison or her pupils weren't sluggish because of all the pills she enjoyed, Meredith was a shimmering light.

She wore this thin little tank-top a lot of the time. It was ribbed and a deep shade of red. That woman never wore her pants. Derek chuckled sadly at the memory. She wore these cotton underwear with Hello Kitty in the corner. So many times he teased her for them and she would smack him or yell or sometimes if she was in good mood just laugh with him. Meredith never needed satin blouses and coifed hair to make her perfect. The tank top and her evergreen irises did that all on their own.

His blanket was folded neatly at the foot of his queen size bed. She used to complain about it he itchy, not warm, and hard. But she always left it draped over her shoulders. Her scent has long faded from the material but he can't bring himself to take it back to his house and put it to use.

Derek took a seat at the edge. So many memories and moments were spent right there. In the bed or the room it sat in. Sometimes he missed his trailer. Not just for the purposes of his long lost love but the quiet. It was his land that Derek missed. Living with four sisters and a Mark Sloan was a perfect equation for chaos. Loud. It was **always** loud. This land was the perfect escape to collect his thoughts. To keep the peace.

Derek desired a little serenity. He leaned back and the bed springs croaked with age. His eyes found the skylight and stared as a perfectly blue sky morphed to gray. Clouds shadowed a beaming sun.

He spent the rest of his afternoon watching as rain pelt, slamming hard on the perimeter of his metal airstream.

* * *

Mark was ignoring him. That didn't surprise Derek much. Not after their big fight at his land. There was nothing expectant of the man anyways. Normally when Mark was mad he spent the first few days avoiding and pouting. Much like his sisters did when something didn't go their way. He would come around. Sooner or later he would have to talk to Derek.

Then again, Derek wasn't looking forward to communicating with him either. What Mark said stuck with him all throughout the weekend. He had hurt him in a way he wasn't sure a naive apology could fix.

Besides the point, Derek couldn't spend his work day focusing on Meredith or Mark or anything surrounding the subject. It was new intern day. The interns came in two batches. One half in July and next in March. The second half would be starting today. Many attending's found interns annoying or unintelligent. While yes, there were always a few imbeciles amongst the clot, Derek actually took a liking to them. They were useful and he enjoyed teaching. For the part of his internship he wasn't drunk he was so freaking enthusiastic to learn. All he ever wanted was to become a great doctor. To save lives so people like his father had a chance to live.

Derek wanted to give that feeling to someone else too.

"New intern day." A voice broke him from his internal thoughts. Addison, perky, shiny smile, clacky heels. He was pretty sure she was the only attending who still wore dressy clothes beneath her lab coat rather than scrubs. But he didn't knock her for it. That was just who Addison was and maybe they were never cohesive as partners but as friends? It worked.

They've been friends for many years now. After the demolition of their engagement it took some time to get from point A to point B but they did. Addison was easier to talk to about emotional things that Mark just didn't get. Derek cheated on Addison with Meredith and still she listened better than his man whore brother.

"Ah yes, new interns." Derek shoved his hands to his pockets. He and Addison made a stride down the catwalk.

"Richard says they're promising this time but I doubt it." She chuckled. "Remember the July ones? That one guy, Dr. DeLuca? God he sucked."

Derek nodded. "I really hated that kid." That was the one intern he despised. He couldn't follow orders or properly stitch a patient up. The moron even dropped a perfectly good liver on the OR floor and ruined it. But that was only something he heard. Not that Derek worked with livers. "You know he stabbed my hand? In the OR two months ago. I asked him to pass me a blade and he just stuck it right in my palm."

Addison giggled slightly and led him through the double doors. "At least the board knew he was a safety hazard." She addressed.

"I know. Where he is now, Mercy West?"

She shrugged at the inquiry. Not that Derek cared except for the permanent scar etched along his right palm.

"What's going on with you and the man whore?" She asked when they entered the cafeteria. The vicinity bustled with numerous physicians, nurses, techs. Even a few patients joined the staff for lunch time if they were stable.

Derek's stomach stirred when he sought out the lunch options for the day. Meatloaf although he just as well as anyone else in the hospital knew there was most likely no real meat in that crap. He opted for a pre-packaged muffin to go with his coffee. Addison picked up a salad and they made a beeline for an empty table.

"What do you mean?" He sighed.

"Oh come on, it's obvious you two are in a fight."

"Why so obvious?"

Addison's salad box crinkled when she opened it. "You two do this all the time. I have known you guys for like ever. You two fight like a couple. Ignore until one cracks and then there's a little intimate hug." A smirk lined her porcelain face. Her lips stretched thin.

Rolling his eyes he said, "We do not."

"Yes you do! Sometimes I swear you guys are a couple." She giggled and stabbed at her wilting salad.

Derek chomped into his muffin but grimaced at the flavor. "This thing tastes like shit." He wiped his lip with the napkin quickly and let the bitter flavor of his coffee wash down his throat. "And we aren't a couple. Nor will we ever be."

"Right." Addison laughed. "And don't ignore me, why are you guys fighting?"

Derek paled. He picked at the muffin and the breading fell to crumbles against the plastic wrap. Addison seemed to pick up on his vibe. "Meredith?" She swallowed thickly.

He elicited an exasperated sigh. "You got it."

"Shit, what happened?"

"He was just talking shit. He's pissed I won't take the offer to speak at that damn Alcoholics Anonymous benefit about being sober ten years. We got into it and he said crap about Meredith... it's not a big deal we'll be over it in a couple of days." He rubbed his palms over the plane of his face.

Addison munched on her lunch with a solemn gaze. "He just says that bullshit to get under your skin, Derek. He means well he just has verbal diarrhea."

Derek snorted.

"Look, Mark cares about you. Both of us do we only want what we think is good for you. If he said something about her it was probably just his stupid way of saying that he's ready for you to finally be happy. We know you love her and a piece of you always will. But that doesn't mean you have to live out your life miserably forever." She stared at him in a way that slugged his tense shoulders. Those round periwinkle orbs took away the dissonance. They made him feel normal. Like maybe he wasn't some freak.

"I know. I know you two do. I want to be happy, I swear. I wish constantly I never met her. I want to go back in time and revert ever walking into that damn gymnasium and finding her. I wouldn't be wasting my life in misery then."

"Derek, as much as I agree you deserve to be happy, that girl helped you in more ways then anyone will ever understand. She's the reason you stopped drinking and got better. Hell, if she never came there's a good chance you and I would be married. Think about how much of a train wreck that would've been?" Addison said carefully. His friend folded her arms over her chest and took a sip of her latte.

Valuable points were made. Pros and cons of his time with Meredith were always presenting themself. "You're right. But you and Mark are both right that I deserve to be happy. I'm going to say yes to the speech. I have to start somewhere."

Addison's face was a Christmas tree, so bright and whimsical. "Yay! That's great Derek. I promise Mark and I will be front and center even if I have to drag that son of a bitch out there." She proclaimed.

He chuckled lightly. "I have no doubt you would."

"Does this mean I can maybe set you up again? You know like on a date? If you're starting fresh, dating has to come at some point."

"I date, Addie." Derek grumbled.

"Having sex with innocent nurses once is not dating." She protested and annoyance filled her voice.

Derek scoffed. "We went on a date, had sex, and it didn't work out. That's all there is to it." He quickly defended himself and wrought himself from the chair. "I don't want to get into the details right now, okay?"

The familiar shrill of his pager dings and saves him from another uproar. _Saved by the bell_ he thought. "Interns are here. I have to go greet mine. You probably have some waiting for you." He interjected.

"How are you managing to get away, again? You're a runner, Shepherd! A runner and someday, someone is going to come along and keep you from running!" Derek found himself laughing at Addison's bravado. She wasn't wrong, not in the slightest. When times got tough Derek's first primal instinct was to run. All Shepherd's ran.

But Derek wasn't focusing on the bad today. Nope. It was new intern day. He had this passion to find the most promising ones and make them brilliant surgeons. It was watching the sparkle ignite in their youthful eyes that made the job worth while. He remembered what it felt like to have that adrenaline coursing, always.

"Shepherd!" Richard called, disrupting his focus. "Glad you got my page. I have the new interns rounded. I put together a really great group for you this time, I think you'll be impressed." He grinned sheepishly.

Derek nodded. "Well, I'm excited to teach and to meet them. If you say they're promising then I have no doubt they are."

"There are actually a few special interns in this group too. I- sisters. We have sisters in this group I have for you." He addressed.

"What's so special about twins?" Derek chortled softly and they walked toward the interns locker.

Richard shook his head. "No, not twins. They're step sisters. One is a little older than the other. I, uh, think you might know one of them? At least that's what someone told me."

Derek furrowed his brow. "Hmm, I'm not sure I know someone with a step sister."

"Maybe I'm mistaken but I do happen to know one of the sisters or did. I knew her mother long ago and she when she was little. I'm not sure she remembers me though."

Derek grappled at the chart holding the names of his new interns. Their pagers were placed promptly in a sleek row by the nurses station. They were do to submerge any moment now. "I'm sure the sisters are great." Derek sighs.

He felt Richard's fingers curl around his shoulder blade. "Well, good luck. Maybe these interns won't stab your hand again." Derek relinquishes a hardy laugh at the memory. Anything had to be better than Andrew DeLuca.

"Let's hope." He said and soon Richard was gone. Interns bustled and crowded the hall but Derek's eyes were carefully examining the sheet that listed his interns names and their assignments.

"Uh, lets make this roll call quick so we can get started. George O'Malley?"

"H-Here! Sorry I'm here I um..." came a shaky voice.

Derek didn't comment and continued his break down of the list. "Erica Smith?" Each name was followed by a similar _here_ or some form of presence.

"Alexandra Grey?" His stomach grew tight when he looked over the last name but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

"Here!" A cheery tone slipped. "Oh and you can call me Lexie by the way. Just if you want I know the professional term would be Dr. Grey.."

"Great and uh, Meredith..."

No. There was no fucking way. Bile collected in his esophagus. His stomach churned and gurgled immensely. Holy shit. Holy freaking shit. This had to be a mix up or possibly a coincidence.

Derek feared to glance up. If his eyes escaped the safety of the paper he would meet _hers_ and every ounce of emotionally stability he'd worked on for the last ten years would crash on him like a wave. But if he didn't continue, professionally it would look odd. Then people would question it and he couldn't fucking deal with anyone's curiosity right now.

"Grey." Derek gulped. "Meredith Grey?"

She stood poignantly in matching cerulean scrubs to the rest of her group. It was definitely Meredith only... healthy. She had filled and curved in every section of her silhouette since their last encounter. Even with the scrubs and lab coat concealing her body Derek could manage her frame. Gorgeous gold waves spread down her shoulders. Light bangs trickled across her forehead. Everything about her was enhanced in the best way possible. Shock seemed to permeate her optics too.

"Hi Derek." Meredith whispered, just low enough that only he captured the commentary. "I'm here." She followed in a louder voice.

"Yeah." Derek husked. "Yeah you are."

* * *

 **How are we feeling? I love the trope of having MerDer reacquaint I can't help myself! I'm excited to work on this story alongside SYBG because this being an AU I get to write about the characters I love such as Mark, Lexie, and Addison.**

 **There are still a lot of uncertainties and they will be explained I promise. Me working on this doesn't mean I'm abandoning SYBG so please no worries. You guys rock and I appreciate your support. Let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Thanks for reading everyone.**


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